


We Are Not Tragedies

by concretebrush



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Coffeeshop AU, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 06:20:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concretebrush/pseuds/concretebrush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raleigh opens a coffee shop after his brother's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Are Not Tragedies

**Author's Note:**

> For a coffee shop au prompt over at the LJ Raleigh/Mako ficathon.

Yancy Becket was something of a coffee connoisseur. He drank four cups a day and could tell you by smell the constituents of any given cup.

Raleigh was less so. He drank his black, one sugar. He didn't care if his coffee was Mcdonald's or that special Luwak type (his brother had gone on and on about that one), all he asked for was to appear awake by six.

**

After Yancy died, Raleigh couldn't abide the smell of coffee. The bitter aroma brought back too many memories of that warm Saturday morning.

  
The one where Yancy had a caffe breve in one hand as he waved the other animatedly. Talking about a new shipment of men for his never-ending apartment building projects.

  
Raleigh distinctly remembers the steam rising from the opening in gentle grasping curls, ghosts dancing in the spring sun.

  
He was happy. In that moment with his brother in their battered mini cooper talking about things that didn't matter and just being alive. He forgets now where they were going, but he can see plainly in his mind the blue car careening towards them, right past the powerless red light.

  
He still wakes up gasping some nights. Thrown out of nightmares where he watches the life leach out of his brothers' eyes. His own torn arm all but forgotten. But worse than all that, are the times when he has half his brother's name out of his mouth before his mind catches up and reminds him that no, Yancy is _dead_ , he's not coming back, and the remaining half of his best friend's name lies dry and jagged in his throat.

**

Four months in with the gaping wound in his chest yet to begin healing, Pentecost, Raleigh's old mentor back when he was still a marine, recommends he see a therapist.  
He doesn't really like talking about his feelings (and less so his brother), but he hates the helplessness and loss of misplacing a limb even more, so he goes Tuesdays and Thursdays, like clockwork.

**

He's moving on slowly. Life is less a clanging party he's watching disinterestedly through the window, it's becoming a coffee shop his brother had always praised, or a room where memories of Yancy bring more comfort than pain.

  
One spring Saturday, a year later, an idea gets stuck in the crevices of his brain that he can't seem to chase out. He wants to memorialize his brother, remember him to the world in a way he would've loved.

  
He decides to open a coffee shop.

**

Yancy's Bean is tucked away on a (relatively) quiet street in Manhattan. He plays the calming music that Yancy had always said enhanced the flavor of the brew. The seats are soft leather and welcoming. Bulbs are hung inside various glass bottles and suspended with rope. Throwing soft multi-colored lights across the dark wood floors. It reminds him a bit of the kitchen in his childhood home. Where happiness and laughter still seeped from the cracks on the ceiling.

  
He's gotten used to being alone again. But just because he's no longer feeling disoriented at wandering through an empty house doesn't mean he likes it. He still aches for a companionship deeper than just a hello I'm fine how are you. But he presses on because the world won't stop spinning for him, and now he's got a shop to run, to pour his heart into, to sweat for. And even though he may not be happy, he is not in pain most of the time and that's good enough for now.

**

Pentecost drops by to see how he's doing, and upon receiving his 'specially tailored Marine blend' moans quietly into his cup and asks for two more. Raleigh hides a smile. He may never be as knowledgeable or passionate about coffee as Yancy is...was, but he thinks he does pretty well.

  
The next day Pentecost brings his adopted daughter. The first thing he notices is the blue streaks in her hair. He's frozen for a minute, torn between laughter and plain confusion over Pentecost's kid having streaks of bright blue hair. He settles on amused and just a touch of wonder.

  
Her name is Mako Mori, and he doesn't think he's seen someone more arresting. He becomes another piece of proof for the old cliché that told generations of romantics that drowning in someone else's eyes _is_ possible, never mind the laws of physics. And he's never been so thankful to his taciturn high school teacher for teaching him how to speak (admittedly poor) Japanese in his life. She orders a tea with a dash of sugar and sits next to Pentecost with a still sort of grace. When he tells her to swing by again, it holds perhaps a touch more of a plea than the normal polite tone he uses with his other customers.

  
In the interim he feels like someone hit the cosmic pause button. Noises are more muted, yet every time he hears the door open he turns to watch for jet black hair paired with blue. He feels slightly like a dog and very foolish, but he knows not looking would be light years more difficult.

  
She returns three days later, he's a mix of relief and surprise and a bone deep joy that he hasn't seen in a while.

  
She sits at the booth by the counter and she has a sheaf of papers spread before her. A clear plastic clipboard peeks out from beneath her arm. He brings her her tea before she even orders and she glances up in confusion.

  
“It's the same as you ordered last time, Miss Mori.”

  
A smile curls across her lips and he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

  
“Thank you. Please call me Mako.”

  
“Well then you must call me Raleigh.” There's a giddiness in his chest and he just wants to draw out this conversation as long as possible, “So, can I ask what you're working on? Your dad says you're part of the research team.”

  
“Head, yes. We're trying to improve marine ships' defense systems.”

  
“Ah, those were good old days.”

  
“I've heard a lot about you, Raleigh Becket. You were a great asset to the corps, you know.”

  
“Hm, well, I never really felt like going back after my brother died. I like it much better here.”

  
“Brewing coffee?” She raises an eyebrow, but her mouth is set in a light grin so there's no sting to her words.

  
“Yeah, brewing coffee.” And he smiles back at her, because although he's just met her, she feels familiar and warm and safe, and he only realizes now that he's been waiting since Yancy's death for just that.

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from We Were Emergencies by Buddy Wakefield.


End file.
